


Erase

by wookberry



Category: VIXX
Genre: M/M, leobin - Freeform, taekbin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 12:30:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10944540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wookberry/pseuds/wookberry
Summary: It's three minutes past one in the morning when the bell above the bar door chimes.





	Erase

**Author's Note:**

> A short story I wrote for a class last year that I altered a little. The title is taken from Hyorin and Jooyoung's duet of the same name. Whilst there's no direct mention, it should be noted that there are underlying hints of suicide in this.

It's three minutes past one in the morning when the bell above the bar door chimes. Hongbin lifts his head from the Grasshopper he's making to call out a greeting, but his voice becomes wedged in his throat at the sound of familiar footsteps and the sight of a familiar face.

Narrow eyes meet his briefly, the same cloudy gaze Hongbin finds himself thinking about every night after work. The man walks over to his usual spot at the end of the bar, sliding into the stool and carding his fingers through his hair. Hongbin counts one, two, three, before he makes his way over.

He knows the man's name, has heard people the man knows exclaim it when they run into him here, but seeing as he’s never properly introduced himself, Hongbin doesn't feel it's right for him to use it. “Same as always?” is his greeting instead.

“Please,” comes the soft-spoken reply, hidden as the man ducks his head. Hongbin sets the first tequila shot down in front of the man, leaving the bottle with it because he knows he'll be asked to if he forgets. He pretends not to notice the bruise on the man's knuckles as he walks away to serve a waiting customer.

He knows that when he looks over in another five minutes, half the bottle of tequila will be gone.

Another customer approaches the man, chortling as he examines the man's choice of liquor. “My my, you must be an experienced drinker. Tequila really burns on the way down, doesn't it?”

The man says nothing, nor does he lift his head, so the customer scoffs and walks away.

It's not a bartender's job to pry – only to listen. Hongbin, shamelessly curious, often finds himself hoping this man will open up to him, but to no avail.

Half an hour later, as Hongbin is stirring the contents of a Moulin Rouge, he sees the man slowly stand in the corner of his eye. As he slides the drink across the bar, he watches the man make his way up the stairs to the door, walking straighter than a man who finished an entire bottle of tequila in forty minutes should be able to.

He's still watching long after the man's figure has disappeared, still listening long after the bell chime has stopped. The words fall out of his mouth in a murmur before he can even process them.

“Taekwoon...”

(“A bartender should pry if he has good reason, right?” Hongbin asks Wonsik, his best friend, later that night when Wonsik comes in after closing time for a beer.

“That's debatable,” Wonsik replies, levelling him with a look. “What's this about?”

“Nothing,” Hongbin brushes him off immediately, looking away, the same empty gaze from earlier that night burned into his retinas.)

The following evening, around the same time as always, Taekwoon enters the bar.

Hongbin already has a shot glass in hand as he walks over to the same stool, but Taekwoon stops him before he can even set it down on the bar.

“Ah, no...” the man says softly, looking up at Hongbin. He nearly drops the shot glass as he watches Taekwoon's eyes crinkle upwards, lips forming a smile. Somehow, it's not a smile that carries the amount of joy it should. “I'd like something else tonight. This... this will be my last drink.”

The look in Taekwoon's eyes tells Hongbin that this has nothing to do with staying sober.

“Alright, well...” he grabs a spare menu from beneath the bar, handing it to Taekwoon.

Hongbin stares at the man, eyes drawn to the dark purple blooming around his eye. Since the first night Taekwoon entered the bar, Hongbin has always managed to spot some kind of injury on him – mainly because Taekwoon appears to make no effort to hide them.

He had always assumed it had something to do with getting into reckless fights, or a case of domestic violence, and so he'd held back from prying. It was, and still is, none of his business.

But what Hongbin tries his best to ignore, more so than what Taekwoon's story could be, is how the bruises on the man's face appeared at the same time as the ones on his knuckles did, and how there are deep scratches on his left arm, and blood under his fingernails on his right.

A bartender should pry if he has good reason, right?

But he doesn't. He serves Taekwoon his drink and expects nothing in return, just as he should.

Taekwoon only has that one drink that night, sliding off his stool and leaving soon after. The sound of the bell chiming above the door has a shiver running down Hongbin's spine, but he's too afraid to pinpoint why.

The next night, Hongbin spends more time staring at Taekwoon’s usual stool than he does actually working, and with every passing minute the feeling of dread deep in his gut only grows.

From opening until closing time, Taekwoon’s seat stays empty.


End file.
